Can't Wait
by Giggle-Pie
Summary: America gets a bit intrusive when France and England leave to discuss finances together after a meeting and it results in England yelling at him. France, so observant, is quick to chastise England for it. But could France possibly be correct? USUK/Oneshot


Mm, hello! This is just a quick thing I wrote out, so please excuse any spelling/grammatical errors. And the fact that there's really not so much humor here, aha;;;;

* * *

They both strode along the street with frowns written on their faces. Neither was in such a mood for this, not today, especially after the "scene" which happened when the two made the mistake of leaving at the same time. It just so happened that their monthly lunch discussion landed on the day of a meeting; it just so happened that they left the meeting room together, creating quite a buzz.

"You know, you didn't have to yell at him, England—" He said; he pursed his lips after he cut himself off for his own safety.

The other scowled and scoffed. "Mmhm, yes, your input is desperately needed right now, France."

France sighed as they reached their destination, and he held the door open for the shorter man; however, the friendly gesture only resulted in a tense stare down until France gave up and went in first. The waitress was quick to seat the two and England immediately began to speak of business. "If we hurry and figure out these financial decisions, perhaps we won't have to order any food."

"Is eating with me so repulsive, dear England?" He laughed at himself, jovially, before making a face at the stoic one that mirrored his.

"Anyways," England said, glaring at the other, "we ought to hurry and get this done. I have business to attend to later."

"Ah, yes, the ever-busy England! Never a free moment in your planner, how could I be so forgetful?~" His voice deliciously mocked the other's; the only time either ever enjoyed these required meetings was when there was fun to be poked.

England rolled his eyes. "Do want your boss to reprimand you for losing all ties with England, France?"

The blue-eyed one sighed wistfully in defeat, bringing out his paperwork and an elegant, floral pen. They proceeded to talk business for a good while, longer than anyone who knew them would've guessed; many assumed that they could never get along—and while partially true—there are certain things that were forgotten when it came to pressing matters. They both caved and ordered food after an hour, realizing they'd be stuck there for a good bit.

France melodramatically smeared a hand down his cheek. "This is quite possibly the most boring thing ever. Can't we take a break and speak of something else, England?" There was a certain smile on his face that warranted disaster, but England was sick enough of the bland talk to ignore it.

He snorted lightly. "Sure." He picked at his food and tried to formulate some sort of insult, some jab at France's ego, but the other spoke first.

"Do you think it was odd, England, that America was so… Fervent on knowing where we were going?" He rested his cheek on his knuckles, smile growing sickeningly larger as the empty seconds ticked by.

England cleared his throat. "No, he's, he's just curious. Probably thought he was being left out of some fun party or something idiotic like that." He could feel a snake rise in his throat, and he bit his lip, hoping France would stop there. However, England wasn't stupid, and he could hear France's next remark seconds in advance.

"Mm, but of course. I'm sure it wasn't because he thought you and I were going on a date or anything, that would just be so out of his character, that America…"

England swallowed hard, and directed his eyes out of the window and then to the tacky curtains. As if focusing on terrible décor would make it any better. "Ah, yes, it would. Alright, you've had your fun, let's get back to wor—"

"However, dear England, I do think you were a bit too hard on him? You left the poor boy red-faced and bumbling in the lobby, and with no apology! Have you no heart, Angleterre?" France giggled now, delicately pleased with himself; he even called England by one of the names he hated the most. Perhaps this wasn't so bad, meeting each month.

England didn't reply and fought the blush that was creeping up his neck. There was no way America could've thought it a date—why would he ever go on a date with such a…

"Ah, but of course not, what a ridiculous question for me to ask! You clearly need glasses, too, unless those brows are clogging up more vision than I thought." He took a bite of his salad, having way too much fun for his own good now.

England's fork rapped on his plate as he struggled to stab a morsel of food. "Why would I need glasses, of all things? And—any my eyebrows do not cover my eyes!"

England didn't hear him mutter "your eyebrows cover your whole face" under his breath, and that may be the reason France was still breathing. "Because you are so blind when it comes to feelings, it almost hurts _me_, and that's saying a lot!" France's demeanor suddenly changed; it became that weird stance where he actually wanted to help, in his weird, weird way. England was instantly skeptical and guarded.

"I am not blind to feelings, you frog, I can sense feelings _perfectly_." He raised his chin up.

France's smile was devious. "Can you now, England?"

"O-Of course!" Now he was angry, frustration chopping his words. "And, and, I'll have you know that I am not blind in any way!"

"So, you see the way America looks at you?"

England's face was immediately red, because no, no; there was no way on earth America would ever think of him the way France was implying. In fact, England was… appalled (yes, _that_ was the word) at the thought. He opened his mouth a few times without saying anything before starting to shuffle his papers together and cram them in his briefcase. "I told you that I can read feelings per-perfectly fine, and I know he does not like me in 'that way', and now I will be taking my leave, you bloody—bloody…"

France's eyes went wide at the fact that England was too frazzled to formulate an insult. His eyes traced him as he exited the small café, chest huffing as he clobbered down the sidewalk. "Check please," he said, gathering his things calmly, slow, slow grin tickling his features.

* * *

As soon as he was out of the hot, stuffy café, he felt much better. Well, his mood improvement also depended on behind able to look in front of himself without seeing France's face, just giggling like that. Why'd France always see himself as so omnipotent when it came to love—he wasn't even in a stable relationship, in fact, he hadn't been for a while, so why was he trying so hard to… Convince England of something? He shook the thoughts briskly from his head, thinking of when he'd have to do the finances and how. His boss would probably force him to meet up with France again before the end of the month, and while he shuddered at that, there was no way he could've stayed in the café. Sighing to himself lightly, he walked towards the path of the hotel. The meeting this time was in Canada, and the cold pricked his arms, since they lay uncovered; he rolled his sleeves up a while ago. Instead of rolling them down, he crammed his hands into his pockets. He stared at the clouds and predicted it would rain soon, and he was thankful to have a peaceful thought in his mind.

However, as he met eyes with the hideously patterned, hideously colored hotel rug, he couldn't help but feel just a bit bad for yelling at America earlier. He really didn't mean to make the boy seize up like that, but lately, he's been getting so intrusive that it was starting to freak him out. He's been being a bit too kind for England's suspicions to be blank, too quiet and too intellectual, even. He was actually contributing to meetings, instead of playing games or sleeping or something akin to that; he was listening intently to what others said, he was being rational, and it was a bit scary. It was so terribly unlike him that everyone was getting a little freaked out, but most saw it as a good thing; England, though, was a bit annoyed by it. He couldn't quite put a finger on why he was though, and he was in no hurry to do so.

Still, aside from America's wacky behavior, it certainly didn't warrant what he did. Just as France and England stepped out of the conference room together (they were only speaking of where to go—much to England's surprise, France knew his way around Canada quite well—no innuendo implied), America took notice and dashed over to the pair. He was insistent of knowing where they were going, why they were going, why they were going together, what had gotten into them, was something wrong, was the world ending, etc., etc.; after a good lot of questions, England snapped, telling him that they were simply going to discuss finances and that frankly, it was none of his damn business. It left the blond haired, blue eyed boy utterly speechless and his eyes swelled a bit, but England didn't notice, or so he told himself. After that he dragged Francis out at that rounded them back at walking towards the café. He didn't know what happened after that; surely America wasn't bothered by it as much as England was thinking he was. Most likely, England assumed to the best of his ability, he went and hung out and played games with Japan.

England's thoughts were perturbed when he dug in his pockets but couldn't find his hotel room key. He got a bit flustered before telling himself that it must be shoved in his briefcase somewhere. He dismantled the already disheveled mound of papers inside before turning up empty handed. "Perhaps…" He said quietly, thought trailing off; slowly, his legs began to take him down to the conference room. England desperately hoped it was still unlocked, but once he found it was unlocked and got in, he hoped it had been locked.

America sat in the seat farthest from the door while his back could still face it; he was hunched over, sleeping, most likely, on a large pile of paper. England tiptoed around the room, searching for his room key, but found himself frequently glancing at the other in the room. He debated whether or not to wake him, but decided against any spark of conversation with him. When he finally decided that he ought to check the other side of the room, he crept closer to America's sleeping figure. He kept his stealth, amazingly, but he couldn't stop his curiosity. England gently peered over the other's shoulder and saw tons of rough drafts for speeches for his presentation tomorrow. Obviously, such dedication bored America to sleep, but why was he trying so hard?

After pondering for a bit, England's eyes traced America's arm down to his hand. There was a room key, with a small note attached, that said _"England's—give to him soon!"._ England's heart backed up a little and he sighed very gently before carefully extracting it; he must've found it lying about in the conference room. As he exited the room, he slammed the door; it was only to wake America, as if it even would, but he did have something pent up to release and it felt rather nice.

England paused for a bit, hearing a sudden jolt and the rustling of papers. So he did wake America up—but he was usually such a heavy sleeper…? England shook his head and hurriedly cascaded up the steps to his room. He was quite tired, it had been quite a day, and he had been… Quite a jerk.

* * *

France made sure to get to the meeting room extra early. He certainly couldn't miss any of this; England would probably be dodgy all throughout the meeting, and would probably refuse to look anyone in the eyes, especially America. France leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped in his chest; a big, goofy smile was stained on his face. He normally didn't get so excited for meetings, but he just knew that this one would be _magnifique_, and truly delectable.

"What're you doing here so early, France?" He could hear Ludwig's voice boom throughout the near-empty room.

France laughed. "Ah, I just thought I'd get here a bit early to, ah, review some paperwork."

Ludwig easily saw through France's lie but pressed no further, certainly in no mood to speak with him. A few others trickled in, Japan coming next, and then Italy (who arrived surprisingly early; normally, he was one of the last ones there). There was a bit of small talk, chitter-chatter; and as the actual time for the meeting to start the bulk of the nations filed in.

"Your smile is very large today, France." Japan said it very calmly, not even a snicker hidden in his words.

France turned, smile growing. "Mm, yes, I'm just quite excited!"

Japan's interest peaked. "Oh, really? Why would that be?"

"Well, you see, yesterday I—" He quickly halted his train of words as England walked in with a pale face.

Japan smiled. "Oh. I see. I think that perhaps it is best that we end this conversation here." He turned back to face the front as Ludwig commenced the meeting. Of course, there had to be a pause as the door clicked and a flustered American barged in.

"Terribly sorry for my belatedness!" He said, but the words did not sound like they came from his mind; it felt as if they were being read off of a page in a book. He quickly took the only available seat, which was (in)conveniently stationed right next to France.

"Right," Ludwig continued. "Anyways, America, you're first on the agenda. Please take the floor."

America nodded eagerly and France's vision quickly flicked to England, who just happened to be intently shuffling his papers. But boy-oh-boy did France's smile grow a bit too big to go unnoticed when he surely caught America's expression after catching England's eye. It suddenly softened and his mouth gaped a tad; goodness gracious, France thought, how could this ever be?

In fact, France was so happy that he saw it that he giggled a bit. Japan was the only one to have his eyes motion towards France, and he didn't say a word.

America, though, was trying to say something. He stood up there, blabbing for a bit, eyes going anywhere else in the room that was not England's chair. He was perpetually scratching the back of his neck and he tried to start his speech several times with no avail. It was almost a little disheartening to watch, Francis thought; perhaps he should try to help?

"America, darling," he said softly, catching the boy's attention, "why not save yourself and do your presentation tomorrow? We can switch—I'll do mine now, and you can take my time slot tomorrow."

"Uh, uh, yeah! Yeah! Great idea, okay, okay. Alright!" He quickly gathered his things and dashed back to his chair, only to slump into it. One could hardly see his face if they sat on the other side of the room, not that one would notice, especially if they were England. Especially. Right.

"America," Japan said quietly. "Is everything alright?"

He opened his mouth to utter a weak yes, but instead shook his head no, and sunk a bit lower.

"We can talk about it after the meeting, if you'd like."

America weaseled out a measly "okay" before trying to focus on whatever France happened to be spewing. It was rather odd that he would grant him such a favor, and America couldn't help but wonder what he wanted in return. Perhaps it was some sort of forgiveness for yesterday? America sighed. He really didn't mean to get so worked up, but he honestly wanted to know where they were going! It was so odd for them to get along and it sort of freaked him out, and he really, really didn't want them to be going on some sort of date, because what if they started dating and France just mindlessly dumped England and-! America resisted the urge to smack himself. That was only half the reason he was so threatened by the two leaving together; in honesty, he was jealous that France got to spend free time with England when he didn't. And that was dumb of him, he reminded himself, because he doesn't own England and he can make his own decisions.

He brought his body up from under the table and rested his head on his arms, slowly falling asleep mid-thought.

—-

"—ica?"

He grunted loosely.

"America?"

He rose up and met eyes with Japan, who had his head tilted in question.

"Are you alright, America? The meeting's over now… Shall we go?"

America nodded groggily, answering yes to both questions. Before rising, though, he allowed his eyes to scan who was left: just Germany, Italy, Japan, himself, and… England, of course. He stared at him for a bit, noticing he was deep in thought, eyes cast low.

"Oh, America," Japan mused, "you're so readable. Perhaps you needn't tell me a thing? I think I have it all pieced together anyways." He chuckled sweetly, the only one amused by it.

America offered a weak laugh and stood, casting one more glance at the green-eyed man who sat across the room. He seemed to have snapped out of whatever trance engulfed him moments before; he was collecting his papers and looked up for just a moment, in perfect timing to meet America's eyes. America looked down quickly and stepped out of the room quickly.

"America," Japan said quietly, a light smile on his face, "you are hopeless."

* * *

"Well," Japan said, breaking the silence after everything America spewed. "I can't say you've done very well at hiding your feelings. I think France was very knowing of all of this, and perhaps he spoke to England about it? I'm not sure why else he'd be ignoring your gaze, America."

"But what if he's ignoring me because he hates me!"

Japan smiled weakly, a wry look cast across his placid features. "I'm sure he doesn't hate you." If anything, Japan thought, it's quite the opposite. He kept his thoughts to himself, though, not wanting to raise America's hopes.

"But what if—"

"America."

"But—"

"America." He placed his hand on the other's shoulder, in an effort to calm him down. "Perhaps it would be best if you just spoke to England, and told him how you feel. It's not very late- I'm sure he hasn't retired to bed yet."

"I dunno, though, Japan." His head hung low. "What if he rejects me?"

"You really do ask too many 'what-if' questions, America. And if he rejects you, then you always have your friendship with England, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," He sighed, running fingers through his hair. "Yeah! You're right! I'm… I'm going to do it!" America got up and began to bolt off.

"America!" Japan cried, flailing his arms. "You're running the opposite way!"

* * *

France and England sat in the conference room, resuming their financial woes and discussions. There was intense eye rolling, glares, and cruel laughs, but France hadn't dare brought up anything relating to America. Though it was tempting, he really needed to get these reports done.

"So if we just cut this a bit here and—"

"England!" He burst in the door, arms flailing, eyes huge; it had taken a good while to find England, and he had to ask a lot of people if they knew where he was. Finally, he came across Spain and Prussia, who claimed he was finishing up his meeting with France somewhere. After more running around, he finally heard their voices echo in the conference room.

Both bodies tensed; one with shock and the other with a weird form of joy. France was quite happy; he could sense _it_ in America's voice.

"Ah, America—it's—can it wait? France and I are almost done with these reports, after that—"

"Nope. Can't wait. It can't! If we wait I might start rationalizing my decisions!"

France smiled so widely that England kicked him under the table. "Oh, oh," France said. "I'll be back in just a bit then? A little break sounds rather nice right now, anyways." He flicked a wink at America and carefully slid past him and through the door, shutting it on his way out.

"Alright," England said sternly, trying to keep his façade, "what's so important, America?"

"So there's somethin' I gotta tell you!" His smile stretched real wide as he took the seat next to the thick-browed man. "So do me a favor and listen, okay? And I want you to know that you can be honest and tell me whatever you think when I'm done, alright?"

"Ah, err, okay…?" A chill ran up England's spine as he weighed what America was to say. "_So, you see the way America looks at you?" "I'm sure it wasn't because he thought you and I were going on a date or anything_." _"Because you are so blind when it comes to feelings…" _He wanted hit his head on the table for suddenly recalling that putrid conversation with that putrid man in that putrid café.

"Okay, England, I…" Suddenly, his blue eyes went wide, and one could see the hundreds of thoughts passing through his mind at that given moment, the hundreds of words he wanted to say but couldn't, and as his mouth was left open, one could sense one last thought, the one he was going to run with.

So he leaned in, rather quickly, so the other couldn't object, and pressed his lips to the thin pair England possessed. His lips were warm and they mused of tea and bitterness and America couldn't focus on any of those things because his heart was climbing up his throat because _oh-my-god-he-just-kissed-England_.

He pulled away relatively abruptly, fearful of the reaction the other would have. Maybe he'd yell at him for being so stupid, or for loving too easy, or for kissing him out of the blue, or—

"America?" The other's voice rang with a certain form of trepidation, and America snapped back into reality, and he stared at England sorrowfully. He sighed inwardly, ready for the rejection, which, in truth, he wasn't ready to hear. "You're a dolt, you know?" His face was normal, and there was a scowl painted on it so effortlessly; his eyes had been freshly rolled and now laid elsewhere in the room, focusing on something else.

And just like that his heart snapped into tons of pieces and he knew he wouldn't be able to collect all of them.

But then England _smiled._ A really weird, goofy kind of smile, and his cheeks were really red; America couldn't help from smiling too, because England looked back at him too and he started giggling because—

"A-Ah, hey, why are you laugh…?" His words turned to mush as he was pulled in for another kiss, one that stifled all of the thoughts that had been shouting at him, all fears he formerly possessed, and he kissed back, and did so rather eagerly.


End file.
